Sin of Knowledge
by Hawki
Summary: Oneshot: There's two things to remember when it comes to being a templar - keep the faith, and don't question it. For one such templar however, that was easier said than done...


**Sin of Knowledge**

"Honestly Solomon, if you keep clutching your staff like that, it's liable to become your cane."

"I should be so lucky to live that long. But please, sit."

The park was calm and serene, much like Oriath itself. Sitting down on the bench situated on the grass, Solomon would have been quite happy to spend all of his day(s) there, beholding what the Templar Order of Oriath had achieved. Order. Discipline. Devoutness. A place where its people conformed to those ideals, and where malcontents were shipped off to Wraeclast where they belonged. A city that Solomon could have been proud to call his own, the sin of pride be damned.

But such sin was not on the elderly man's mind right now. And as Brother Phillip sat down beside him, it was clear to the Templar that such thoughts were not on the cleric's mind either.

"You're troubled, aren't you my brother?"

"I am," Solomon admitted. "I am troubled. And that, in turn, troubles me."

"Well, I know it cannot be of matters of faith," Phillip said. "And if there is any trouble that stems from Oriath itself, I have yet to see it."

"That which is unseen may yet still exist," Solomon murmured, recanting one of the first articles of faith. "But no, Brother, what troubles me is what I see, and yet is not physical." He turned to face the cleric, diverting his gaze away from the people enjoying the park at the height of summer. "Dreams, Brother Phillip. They come to me. They…disturb me."

The cleric nodded in understanding. No-one knew what dreams meant, if anything. But that didn't stop those of the faith from trying, and if necessary, offering consolation if needed.

"Speak, then," Phillip said. "No judgement will be given. Only consolation and if necessary, advice."

Solomon nodded, returning his gaze to the park before taking it down to his hands. Old hands. Hands that he wrung together in unease.

"In my dreams…" the templar began, "I see Wraeclast."

"That is…unfortunate," Phillip said slowly. "To see so wretched a place."

"But it's _not _wretched," Solomon said. "Not in my dreams at least."

"Pardon?"

"In my dream I see…Wraeclast," the templar repeated. "Yet it is not the Wraeclast we know. It is as it was before the cataclysm that struck it."

"That…would be a blessing then, I suppose," the cleric said, his tone again slow and reserved.

"You _suppose_?" Solomon asked, facing Phillip. "I see visions of the greatest civilization this world has ever known in its prime, and you only _suppose _it is a blessing?"

"I mean…well, even if what your dreams show is indeed Wraeclast in days of old, it is still less substantial than even a dream," said the cleric. "I can understand why this might bother you."

"No. You can't."

"Why?"

"Because…my dreams tell me our forefathers were involved."

There. He'd said it…whatever "it" was. Looking at the shocked expression on Phillip's face, Solomon suspected that "it" was "interesting" at best, and "heresy" at worst.

"That is…interesting."

Solomon beamed. Perhaps he'd got the best case scenario to work with. At the least, his brother's words had opened the floodgate.

"I know it sounds crazy," the templar continued. "But I believe that the dreams are trying to tell me something. That…that Wraeclast can be cured. That the Templar Order has the means to do it, or at least the knowledge. Perhaps if I could look at our ancient tomes and-"

"No."

Solomon stopped. Phillip stood up.

"Don't even consider it," the cleric said, his voice as hard as the walls of Oriath. "You're a respected member of the order Solomon, but not even you have access to those tomes."

"I…know that," the templar murmured. "But considering what I've seen-"

"You've seen nothing but the symptoms of an elderly mind."

Solomon opened his mouth again. But Phillip kept talking, even as he knelt down and took the templar's hands in his own.

"Phillip, those tomes are kept sealed for a reason. The knowledge they contain…well, it is the path to sin."

"But we're meant to seek out knowledge. Knowledge is the foundation of our order. Knowledge-"

"No, my brother. Faith is the foundation of our order. So in the spirit of that faith, I ask you, my brother, cast these dreams and the temptations they offer out of your mind. Those tomes are kept locked away for a reason, out of the gaze of Men and God." The cleric stood up. "I can help you, Solomon. But only if you help yourself."

"I…can do that," the templar murmured.

"Good." Phillip shook his hand. "I'm glad we had this discussion."

Watching the cleric walk off, Solomon wasn't sure if they'd really had a discussion at all. Phillip was a man of wisdom, but it seemed that wisdom dictated him to purposely avoid some knowledge.

_Considering what we know of those tomes though…maybe it's for the best._

Or was it? If those tomes were so sinful, why did they still exist? Why did his dreams point out to them as the answer? What was the question in the first place?

Solomon gripped his staff as he pondered the issues. He did not want his faith to be found lacking. But still…

He didn't feel so old anymore. Pondering his dreams and Phillip's words, there felt like there was too much left to discover to let such a feeling get to him.

He just hoped that he, and the entire order if it came down to it, could bear whatever revelations awaited them.


End file.
